


Defeat

by WhenOopsMetHi



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Hale Family, Angst, Dark, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Pining Stiles, Suicide Attempt, Tearjerker- i like to think it is, Triggers, i went from fLUFF TO ANGST SO FAST I GOT WHIPLASH, post S1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-13
Updated: 2015-01-13
Packaged: 2018-03-07 07:51:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3167174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhenOopsMetHi/pseuds/WhenOopsMetHi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Every soul shall taste of death, Stiles is the only one who embraces the clutches of death and kisses him back."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Defeat

**Author's Note:**

> Please beware of trigger warnings, there's mild but not graphic depictions of self harm, if this is not your cup of tea then go read my other oneshot bc that's fluffier than a rabbit tail.  
> Warnings for no happy ending, blood, self harm, general angst and pining. Other than that, grab the tissues and go right ahead, thanks for reading!

 

 

 

"Who are you Stiles?" Stiles demands from himself. He stares hard, carefully eyeing all his aspects. The ridge of his nose, the furrow of his eyebrows, his moles, his not-quite-short-anymore hair, uneven and choppy.

 

He is weird.

He is a freak.

He is _ugly._

 

He doesn't have huge muscles like Boyd, a fancy car like Jackson, sex appeal like Erica, a cute puppy dog thing with scarves that Isaac has going on for him.

He doesn't have a steady place of work and aim and objective like Scott who wants to become a veterinarian. His life doesn't have a definitive direction. He is just swaying, going through the expected motions with no embodiment of feeling.

He isn't any sort of supernatural. (Having some emissary magic doesn't make him supernatural, it makes him legible to _keep the balance_ , whatever that means). He is boring and average even by _human_ standards.

Stiles tugs his shirt off and steps out of his jeans, gets tangled and falls. Bangs to the floor face first. Miscellaneous bottles of half empty whiskey and completely empty beer are strewn around the room, he breaks a couple of flasks in his haste to catch himself. The sharp and broken necks slice at his arms.

First he's numb and then a sharp jolt of pain zings through his fingertips, he gasps in haggard breaths because his nose feels broken and he can't really breathe. He waits for the wave of scabbing torment to tide over him and sags.

His legs are constantly shaky and his fingers always tremble. Consequence of restlessness. He hasn't been sleeping much because of the nightmares that constantly plague him, whispers of death calling him, glimpses of hell awaiting him.

Stiles swipes a disinfectant cloth over his nose, wincing at the sharp sting of alcohol. He ducks into the bathroom to confirm, yes, his nose isn't broken. His head is pounding and his vision is blurry. His fatigue adds to his jittery nerves and shot to hell concentration. He isn't able to focus for very long, on the same thing. He is irritable and unable to find simple joys in his previous happiness. Cookies from Mrs. Winter, their neighbor only serves to make his stomach churn. Sleepovers with Scott are frustrating as he can't keep up with Stiles' erratic moods, and cannot find reason for Stiles' despondency as of late. Even late night conversations with his father fail to make the content and warm feeling curl low in Stiles' belly.

He lacks motivation, getting up for work as a barista is tedious. His drive and incitement in life has been extinguished like a candle in the wind.

Worthless.

Stupid.

Tiny.

Inadequate.

Hopeless.

Pathetic.

Weak.

Human.

 

Sometimes he feels overwhelmed with all these thought pushing at his mind, all these emotions tugging at him, pushing and compressing his head until he thinks he might explode.

 

toomuch _toofasttoomuchtoofasttoomuchtoofasttoomuchtoofastpainpainpainmakeitgoawaypleasehelpmehelpmewakeupstileshelppleaseanyonehelpmepleaseohgodohgodhelptoomuchtoofast_

 

Too pasty, pastel skin and sallow complexion, skin stretches rigid over bone from not eating, weak and brittle from never leaving his room aside from using the bathroom. Acne blotches and scarring blemishes from the pimples being gouged. Never seeing the sun awards him with darkened pock marks. Skipping meals, becoming closeted after hearing rumors that Derek and Kate are dating. _Devotion of a relationship_.

Other times he feels distant and unattached. Cold and unfeeling. Heartless and austere.

Bleak.

Objectively, Stiles knows he should be feeling melancholy at his forthcoming fate and the choice he is forced to make (and their consequences), but only blankness remains

The stone in his stomach rolls and gathers tendrils of simmering hate and passionate detestation. Stiles genuinely considers setting the Hale house on fire with Kate inside, he imagines her shrieks would send licks of pleasure through his body. 

He screams at his dad for the first and last time, and almost, deliberately, drives his Jeep off the Haden cliff the day he sees Derek kissing her, arms circling her waist and fingers tangled in his hair. _The only hell is the world I live in now._

_Such hostility. Anger bereft of quelling. Possessiveness and jealousy are his chosen feelings that fall over his shoulders much like that leather jacket that adorns Derek._

Dark circles, moles stark against his pale skin, freckles and large ears. Slender and breakable wrists. Delicate, he sneers at himself. Slightly stained teeth from years of soda consumption and caffeine. Revolting. Jutting collar and hip bones, too thin. No meat.

He's tried to get shapely, fatten himself up, eating copious amounts, maybe Derek will like him then. But he's only succeeded in stuffing his face, and throwing up. Gaining a small pouch low in his belly that makes him nauseated with its presence. He is skeleton thin but retains fat, Stiles' personal nightmare. 

Inferior and dull-witted, unlike snarky and golden-skinned Kate. Lonely and torment are his continuous companions.

 

He is uncoordinated, clumsy and ADHD ridden. He doesn't know how to articulate his words, or manage his finances (Kate helps her dad with his business) and he is baseline awkward. Flailing limbs and uncontrollable blurting.

 

Memories are all that remain of happiness. He still remembers how it all changed.

 

His hair isn't an attractive color. Plain. Boring and standard. Hazel wood in the forest. Dark. His eyes are slightly too close and not an irresistible color (unlike Derek's cocoa-green or Kate's baby blues). His eyes are honestly just like whiskey. How rotten and vile a color (Derek's favorite color is brown, and Stiles couldn't even land himself with simple brown eyes). Scott calls it amber, Stiles calls him a lying whore. The frame of his glasses leave imprints beside his nose, his lips aren't bright pink or seductive maroon.

It is just chapped and bitten and ragged. A lot like his nails. His arms are too long and his voice too annoying. Grating, sometimes deep and serious, other times husky and cracking (usually around Derek). Stiles has taken to avoiding Scott and the rest of the pack. Alpha Talia comes over to check on him when rumors of Kate's pregnancy almost tore him apart. She smells his miserable state and hugs him close as he wails and sobs and chokes over life and how unfair it is. She assures him with almost desperate words, _soon soon soon_. Be patient, she asks kissing his fingers, rubbing circles into his wrist, clocking his pulse.

 

*******

 

Take what you want from me, take it all, for nothing matters but you, your value is priceless to me. I would trade it all for a simple smile to grace your gorgeous face. Break it all, _break me_.

But if you try to make me stop loving you, you have failed before you attempt.

 

What do you want? Do you want my anger? Do you want my hurt? Do you want my cries? Do you want my desperation? Do you want my anguish? Do you want my wails? Do you want my desire? Do you want my love?

 

_Take it all. I am nothing without you anyway._

 

_******* _

__

 

The slashes against his thighs and abdomen haven't healed properly (perhaps because as soon as they scab over Stiles reopens them with his blade) and almost constantly bleed. Shallow and mostly stinging. Body can't even restore itself properly, pitiful.

The vertical and deeper cuts on his wrists are Stiles' saving grace. Whenever he feels himself slip up, or he drifts, or has had a particularly exhausting day he simply scratches really hard at his arms, digs his nails in and dislodged the scabbing skin, the rough material of his clothes sliding against the open wounds make him cry out and he revels in the pain. At Scott's questioning look Stiles simply blames mosquito bites, when Scott eyes a stray trickle of blood, Stiles says he must've broken the skin, what can you do Scotty, pesky insects.

Stiles thumbs a raised scar on his forearm, a straight and curved cut.

 _D_. 

His first slits for his first and eternal true love.

Derek.

No one else but you.

_Always about Derek._

And isn't that what life is all about? Finding the other half to your idiot? The one person that adored all your quirks and would be fond of your nature and laugh at your jokes and hug you tighter when you cry? That one person who could make you smile in the middle of a hurricane and laugh when you wanted to collapse, who gave you hope that tomorrow brings new opportunities and who allowed you to show them all sides of you, the graceful, the clumsy, the arrogant, the compassionate, the angry and even the bloodlust. Derek was that person, fashioned for Stiles, but Derek was the prince and Stiles was no Cinderella. That's what happens. You fall for the wrong person, you overestimate yourself, you press the brake too late, you miscalculate a jump, people get hurt and _people move on._

As Fate would have it, Stiles is not cut out for this world.

Stiles glares at his reflection, disgusted but too angry to look away from all his faults. Slowly nagging at each defection until he felt rubbed raw with revulsion and nausea.

Virgin and innocent. Many people thought being a virgin and untainted and pure was sweet but it was different because this was not Stiles' decision. He would happily shed his purity faster than he would jack off to stubble burn and hate sex and angry eyebrows and Derek's mouth between his legs.

_It almost always came back to Derek._

But Stiles was old-fashioned, he liked simplicity. Vanilla sex; friction and kisses and touches and he was done, he wasn't into any kinky BDSM acts or foreplay, daddy and son kinks, Dom/Sub or pain play, blood play, overstimulation or any of those tangles of actions any interesting people were into and drawn to.

Derek is broad shoulders, sculpted and tight forearms, roped and powerful form, muscular and ripped abdomen, high and confident poise of his gaze, his striding and strong gait, the settlement of his spine and his personality. They all reflect intelligence, perseverance, strength.

 

Self assured and assertive.

Knows what he wants, and what he needs. Knows how to twist and barter until he's received his desire.

Derek deserves the world and more, he is a god among mortals.

Or more accurate, an Alpha among humans. And Stiles is an especially frail human.

 

_Please don't let this cruel world ruin you, Derek. My love, I will not always be there to protect you (or try to. Because you know, i'm **human** ). Do not change. Please…_

 Stiles is not worthy of Derek.                               

He severely lacks grace.

He is not interesting.

He is not enthralling.

He is not engaging.

He is not riveting.

He is not special.

 

His attention is easily captured by shiny objects and big words.

 _Like a dog_ , Stiles spits savagely at himself.

 

Sure, he could research and gather information, translate, make color coded files, construct folders and summarize portions of the bestiary but that's only because he has enough wifi and enough time (as his life seriously lacks a significant other and he has some serious focus)

 

*******

Stiles hides in the blinding light of the sun and shroud of darkness as the stars gaze with regret at the broken boy.

With the moon as their witness and blood on their hands, the celestial bodies swear to it in the next life, the boy will be treated with kindness. For now, he must brave his demons with fortitude.   

Be yourself?

Be true to who you are?

You are a nobody.

You are the cause of so much pain.

You killed your mother by simply existing.

Your first act in this world was murder.

Your mother died giving birth to you.

You are not worth her sacrifice.

You don't deserve to live.

You stupid boy.

Truth in lies and doubt in faith.

*******

 

Derek has found her now.

How did it come to this? How did you slip from my fingertips into her claws? I don't know when or why. I wish i could hate you. I begin to laugh and break into tears, body wracking and sobs weighing me down. I've nothing but you, I _want_ nobody but you. Darling, you have caused so much, made my heart bleed and thump, race and skip beats, you've set it on fire and doused it in ice. I don't know if you know, I don't know if you care. But oh I hope you do.

And i hope you don't, for I don't like to cause you regrets.

Darling, you set my heart aflame. For you.

Life is too short for regrets, and my life is filled with regrets; therefore i shall end it.

 

Your entwined hands are as much hurt as a bullet to the chest, as you speak about _kids and home and family_ I slowly break and claw at my arms. **Stop** _stop_ STOP.

_~~Please save me from myself.~~ _

You and _I_ were supposed to have a family, that should be _me_ who you're discussing home loans and architecture for our beach house with. Our lips are sculpted for each other, our bodies created to fit like puzzle pieces, our caresses are destined for each other's body.

However.

A relationship with you is a dream, an aspiration, a hopeless wish. My imagination running wild.

Why ~~WHY~~ wHywhY _why_ why **WHY**

 

_'Don't lose who you are'_

I've never been anybody

how can I lose something

that I do not have.

_You don't even need to be a supernatural creature to be a monster, Stiles._

 

Median grades.

Imperfections and flaws

Scars and tears

Blood and bone

I try

I try

I try

I didn't ask for this, yet I am subjected to this torture and I must live with the pain and deal with the hurt

Will someone please believe me

My effort exists

My attempts have failed, much like my entire life

A complete and thorough failure

 

My insides claw at my stomach lining

Searching for escape

It's okay not to be okay

 

I want to

I yearn to 

 

I want to taste your lips

I want to run my fingers down your spineI want to see your bed hair and steal your coffee

 

I want to get down on one knee and trace the reactions of your face

I want to know how long you take to bath and then join you in the shower to scrub your back

I want to lather shampoo into your silky hair and massage your temples

I want to fall asleep on your chest

I want your family to love me

I want your family to approve of me

I want your sisters and brothers and dad to tell me what they would do to me if I ever hurt you but _you and I know I could never hurt you._

 

Something can only hurt you if you give it the power to, if it means something, it it's important.

As well as the fact that i simply don't have it in me to stand to see the pained twist of your face and not fall over in order to help ease the frown.

A lost love.

I want to trace every inch of your skin

I want to feel your muscles ripple and clench under my fingers

I want to know how it feels

to love you and for you to love me.

 

Will none truly love me?

For I truly love you.

 

I fall fast and i fall free, breaker of chains is thee.

Your whisper of touch murmur, not falling but flying.

My lonely and hungry heart craves your company and presence to satiate the famished appetite.

 

_I can give you heaven and show you hell, give me a chance._

 

I want your smile                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                     i want your laugh                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                       I want your body                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                         I want your love                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                      I want your warmth                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                I want you

but

I want you to be happy

and you can't be happy with me

 

_so_

_good_

_bye_

_my_

_love_

_take_

_care_

_of_

_your_

_heart_

_for_

_me_

_it's_

_worth_

_everything_

_to_

_me_

 

 

Stiles tugs the rope and tightens the knot, scratches as his wrist out of habit, he locks it properly in place (trying to not think about how his dad taught him these exact square and reef and slip and overhand knots, and failing).

He calculates wind and velocity and how quickly the bite would take when (not if) Scott or Derek would try and bite him.

He places the mountain ash around the edges of the room and just as he murmurs the mantra for the activation spell (pure and unadulterated belief) he senses a presence outside his door.

 

"Stiles?" His father.

He doesn't answer and taps at his keyboard so his dad would know he's fine and alive.

**For now.**

"Look son, I know it hurts, I'm so sorry I did not tell you about Katherine and Derek."

Stiles tenses at their names, not sure who he loathes more right now.

Kate with her sly smiles, Derek with his genuine caring and observant traits yet tendency to act like a recluse and seek consolation in books (which Stiles did not at all think was unbelievably adorable. Nope. Not at all. No) or his father, who usually knew the best way to deal with Stiles, but this isn't a minute high school infatuation that he can drown in some weed and his dad's six-pack of Heineken or smoking all night until his mind was hazy enough that he simply does not care. Stiles had expected comfort from his dad in the form of a hug, but instead had received beer and permission to skip school. Stiles is insulted, alcohol is for when Scott and Allison are on one of their 'breaks'. This is so much more serious, Stiles needs a good, long cry and then maybe to trash a motel room.

Stiles isn't a person to become solely besotted, he throws himself into the throes of intimacy. Mere and half-hearted wasn't Stiles' style. When Stiles is hurt, he _feels_ it.

Lovesick and enamor is for Scott and the rest of the teenage population of the world.

Stiles _loves_. Love is his wings and the world is his perch. Love is his fire in a blizzard, love is his oasis in the Sahara. 

Love sweeps over him, like an ocean. The tide tugs him deeper until he is lost at sea, alone with his drowning and overwhelming love. Six feet under water and screaming, but nobody can hear him.

"I honestly assumed it was just a crush, I didn't know he was going to _propos_ -" John sounds truly wounded but it is nothing compared to the choked snarl and whimper of anguish Stiles lets out.

Derek may be a beast but Stiles' isn't his beauty.

There it is. Derek's proposal, the news that shook Stiles world apart with cracks and headaches and the urge to listen to emo music and the reason for the bloody state of his bed, drenched in the scars of his grief.

"I love you, daddy." Stiles sounds like the words are being strangled out of his larynx.

John is immediately taken aback by the how coarse and _broken_ Stiles sounds. Then again, Stiles feels more for Derek than lust and adoration.

He hasn't called him _daddy_ since he was a child, John's kid isn't alright, and probably won't be for a while, he might always despise Kate, may never give up that grudge. John will never fault him for that.

"As I love you." John leans against the door, can feel Stiles' hovering warmth through the door, he knows Stiles is considering opening the door, that's just what Stiles does. Seeks comfort in touch, but Stiles deserves to deal with this in privacy without his father at his shoulder, watching him through each phase until he reaches resignation and acceptance.

"I have to leave for work now, Stiles." John says as he can see the knob beginning to turn.

He is a good father and he knows Stiles needs space, but can almost taste Stiles' disappointed.

This is difficult for John as well, his kid is hurting. It is instinct to pick him and rub his back, brush away the tears and protect him from harm, but Stiles needs to feel every inch of this, it is the only way he would learn, he needs to cry and scream and writhe in order to laugh and smile and know that people grow with pain. John hesitated before saying softly, "Your mother would be so proud."

 

There was a hitched breath and a long pause before, "Uh yeah, have a good day dad. And just because i'm not there doesn't mean you can drown in alcohol or have takeout." Stiles says after a drawn out moment, with stuttering breath and John placates him, slightly confused. His shift is only five hours, he wouldn't find time to drink or have any fatty and greasy foods.

 

"I won't son. I know you're always there, watching over me."

Stiles chuckles in dark amusement, "And don't you forget it, old man." His voice cracks.

"Take care. Don't die." John pauses for Stiles returning laugh from their long standing joke of, _hey Stiles you going to school? don't die_ or  _you walking down the stairs_ _buddy? don't die_  but only stiffening silence continues and he assumes Stiles must've gotten fed up with his father and dismissed him.

Stiles waits for John's patrol car to leave the driveway before he lets himself fall to his knees, in defeat.

His dad just let him down, there's no way John thinks Stiles isn't up to something.

 _Maybe he knows and this is his way of telling you to go ahead and end it, make life easier for him, waste of time, money and effort,_ something cold and slithering hisses. Stiles jerks.

 

Stiles rolls his neck, swings his arms and reaches towards the light to fasten the cable cords and ties to the ceiling. Once secure, he steps back and appraises his room. His desk with books still open to pages regarding wolf lore and folk tales, his poster bed and figurines of Marvel characters, his comics and gaming set. His sky blue walls and hand-prints from every birthday from age four. Scott thinks it is adorable but Stiles simply finds it tacky.

 

Prepubescence.

Childish.

Immature.

 

Derek doesn't want a child

who still battles on his playstation

and goes to the comic book store instead of pirating, and online downloads.

He wants Kate Argent;

sophisticated and obscene

rather than a scrawny and lithe little boy like Stiles, who has only skin and bones and chipped nails and slight baby fat on his cheeks and no curves and lush curls and regular manicures and silky soft skin.

 

_Let me apologize for what i'm about to do._

Stiles shivers as the open window invites a breeze that raises bumps across Stiles' unclothed body. He walked over to close and lock it, wearing simply boxers.

 

No silk pajamas, or hipster jeans, or trendy shirt.

No glasses, he'd taken his tongue piercing out, removed rings and chains;

you come into the world with nothing, you take nothing into the grave with you.

 

His body is a canvass of lacerations.

An art exhibit, showcasing the latest masterpiece.

This piece is called _The cold and unadulterated truth; Whether you like it or not_.

 

Don't know what i'm doing, don't know where i'm going, but i'll take a running start and leap with faith as my friend, Stiles murmurs to himself attempting to quell his shaky hands.

 

_Ashes to ashes, dust to dust._

_Derek may be a werewolf but you're the only animal here._

_Hideous and grotesque._

 

His hands shake with uncertainty and doubt.

Brace yourself.

Claudia Stilinski unexpectedly swims up at the forefront of his mind and Stiles' gasp is garbled by his surprise, he doesn't like to think about her much ( _before he goes to bed and in the silence when he brushes his teeth is inevitable_ ) because the imagination of the woman that gave her life in exchange for his was a painful reminder of his very  _existence_ being a failure. Every breath he took was stolen from the corpse of the pretty lady with the fiery hair that lined the walls of the hallway.

Preparation and prayers, crossed fingers in blind hope.

Today this ends; no more pain.

Maybe he can even meet his mother,  _finally,_ and apologize for the disaster train wreck that is his life. 

In movies and books, this would be the part where Imagine Dragons would start playing ominously and start crooning about life not being easy but so worth it.

 

This is the part where the hero bursts in and proclaims their undying love for the protagonist.                                                    

But that was fabrication, this is actuality. Stiles is no damsel in self-distress and he did not have a knight to rescue him.

Just his dad, who may or may not be blissfully unaware, and at work. And Scott, who had Allison. He'd get over losing Stiles.

 _And Derek_. Who would probably mourn Stiles' out of politeness and then be distracted by his fiancee.

They didn't pay him much attention when he is there, who's to say they'd really notice when he isn't.

He steps onto the stool and tightens the rope once more (until it's truly taut and tense), the twine rope chafes uncomfortably and Stiles can feel rough texture scratching at the sensitive skin at his throat, just as a shadow falls over the window, and Stiles catches sight of a platinum-gold ring glint bright, brilliant and dazzling against dark and tan skin. The coil is fastened and the latches are all tucked properly, tied to withstand the weight of approximately one hundred and forty seven pounds (Stiles was unsure how much weight a corpse gained and he did not want the cables to snap, as a result of a few additional pounds, just as he lost consciousness. This is a firm decision.)

_Derek._

_I can't live with you so i'll die without._

This is farewell.

Mercy washes away my sins.

 

Derek's knock becomes incessant, his taps becomes aggressive and Stiles closes his eyes, concentrates on the mountain ash keeping werewolves _outoutout_.

Glass shatters as Derek simply breaks the window and starts to climb in but hits the shield of magic and _will_ entwined.

 

Derek and Stiles' eyes meet.

 _Lamb in the slaughter, staring into the eyes of the butcher_.

Stiles smiles.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                       Appropriate his last sight would be Derek.

 

_Oh, are the Gods finally being kind to him? Too late._

 

His voice is steady and even when he promises softly, "I will love you till the wolves stop howling" and steps off the chair.

He gasps and claws at the cables as they tighten around his throat, no air no _air no air cantbrreathve cabntvbreathge xantbvreathwe_

Stiles' body convulses and arches in the unmistakable curve of a damaged spine, his vision dims, Derek's screams echoing in his ringing ears.  

What was that saying? _Every soul shall taste of death? Well death tastes sweet, its lips linger on Stiles, cool and beckoning. Enticing him into its reach until its clasp becomes an ever constricting chokehold._

 

A single thought lingers as the darkness and chill consumes him and his hanging body spasms and writhes, fighting for life

**but instinct for survival holds nothing when you're the one who decides to stop living.**

 

_am i good enough now?_

*******

 

_Stiles never asked himself why Derek had come to his room that night. He never noticed that Derek's ring was not on his second finger. He never saw his phone with flashing texts from Scott " **dEReK canceled WEDding cALL ME STileS**!" He never bore witness to Derek's eyes flash blue (with extreme grief. With loss.) as he kicked and screamed with quickly losing life. _

 

_He never witnessed the pained glances Derek would send him when Kate kissed him, he never heard Derek's enraged cry when his parents forced him to marry her, claiming his mate was too young, he never saw the ripped apart animal carcasses that surfaced the day after Kate hummed about having his cubs and mating him. He never observed the pooling saliva- Derek's wolf trying to provide material to heal all the scars and gashes littering and criss-crossing his body. He never listened to Derek's rants to his family about how **bloody perfect Stiles was**. How intelligent and observant and kind he is. He never payed attention to cryptic and offhand comments from Laura and Cora when Stiles was shirtless in their pool and Derek wouldn't go near him (always assumed Derek was disgusted by him). _

 

_He never took heed of Dr. Deaton's words when he spoke about mates and no force in the existing universe could keep mates apart, Stiles assumed Deaton was warning him to stay away from Kate and Derek. **Mates**. _

 

_He never spotted Derek looking at him at his lacrosse games, Derek must have been there for Kate, who was flashing her legs and performing complicated twists and turns. He never noticed Derek's glare aimed at Danny when they would mockingly flirt and tackle each other._

_He never knew how realistic their potential was, how close he was to grasping that fairy-tale ending, how real their love was._

 

_To love and be in love. Never hearing silence quite this loud._

_We all make the same mistakes. Fear of rejection, ignorance, misunderstanding._

_He was never made aware that Derek loved him. And that, was the **ultimate defeat.**_

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave reviews (constructive or complimenting), they encourage me to continue to write for our mutual enjoyment.
> 
> Tweet me mofos @alphaandhuman
> 
> I PROMISE NEXT STORY WILL BE A FLUFFLES
> 
> WOULD ANYONE LIKE AN EPILOGUE FROM STILES' FUNERAL OR DEREK'S POV OR SHERIFF WHEN HE COMES HOME TO FIND HIS SON'S BODY?
> 
> Until next time, have a good one.  
> -Lutz xx


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